Page 35

“I want a different lesson today.”

Barrett stared down at Nell standing on the other side of his front door.

He hadn’t been sure if she would show up for lessons today, seeing as a couple of days had passed since they returned from Bellevue without any word from her.

But here she was, chest heaving, with her bike hastily dropped onto the dirt drive behind her.

He’d been waiting anyway, strumming out the chords of KC’s song—or the chords he knew of it. KC never did finish writing it, so as new inspiration struck, he’d put his own touch to the lines that she never got to complete.

He’d thought of bringing it up to Nell today, seeing if she wanted to hear it yet, but he clearly wouldn’t get the chance.

He ran a hand through his bangs. “Different lesson?”

“I want to go for a drive.”

“A drive?”

“In your van.” Her words were certain, determined. But her hands fiddled together, picking at her nails. “I want to learn how to be in a car again. I . . . I want to go to Bellevue.”

Barrett blinked.

Months since they’d become friends, and he’d never seen her get into a single car. He knew why. He’d heard the bits and pieces, and read the articles. He knew enough.

Yet something had changed, and he hadn’t been there to know what.

But if she wanted to, if it made her happy, who was he to say no?

“Whatever you’d like.” Grabbing his keys off the counter, he didn’t waste time lingering around. He stepped out onto the front porch and gestured to the van parked haphazardly next to the house. “Lead the way.”

Her eyes went wide like she’d expected him to deny her. But rather than questioning him, she nodded, turned to face the vehicle, and walked down the wooden steps and through the dust. He followed close behind, watching her back.

The closer they got to the van, the slower her steps became—gentle and methodical like she was trying not to spook an animal.

He followed her anxious movements around to the passenger side, matching her pace and waiting until she was next to the door.

That confidence in her voice from moments before didn’t translate to her body. They stood like that for moments, staring at the doorknob. He stayed silent, waiting for her to make the next move and fighting against his urge to shift on his feet in the awkward stillness of their positions.

“Barrett,” she said, her voice startling him. She rubbed her hand on her pant leg.

“Nell.” He caught the tremor in her hand right before her fingers gripped the denim in a fist.

“Can you open the door for me?”

He nodded, stepping up to her side and opening the door as gently as possible.

Without meeting his gaze, she gave a single nod of thanks.

He studied the side of her face, focusing on her lip being sucked into her mouth and worried by her teeth. “Nell, if you—”

“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath, she stepped up, and lifted herself into the passenger side.

Barrett kept his hand on the open door, giving her a few moments, letting her adjust. When she took another deep breath, he did the same. “I’m gonna close the door now, okay?”

She hummed what sounded like an acknowledgment. He closed the door gently and rushed to the driver’s side so she didn’t have to be in there alone for more than three seconds.

He climbed in and found her staring at the dash with unfocused eyes.

Everything he did was gentle, steady: turning the key, putting the car in drive, pressing on the gas.

She was a statue—still, unblinking—but breathing heavy, long breaths.

He stayed quiet and kept the music off.

He’d never questioned the interior of his van. It was what it was, and he was used to it. But what did she think? Was it calming? What did she smell? Was a jerky, old van the best place to reintroduce her to driving?

They hit a small bump. He glanced at her, but her face was still. Her breaths were heavier, he thought.

He wished he could read minds, wished he knew how to help her better or what to say and do. He was a dope when it came to this stuff. Inexperienced. Destined to say the wrong things and possibly make the wrong moves.

He tapped his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, torn between staring at her or at the road.

He was overthinking it.

It was simple: All he knew to do was drive straight and go the limit, and just not cra—

“Stop.”

He almost didn’t hear it. It was so quiet and raspy it could have been mistaken as the wind. But then her heavy breaths became harsher, more ragged. He snapped his head toward her.

“Please, please stop. Stop.”

Barrett’s heart rate spiked and plummeted at the same time. “Okay, okay. Hold on.” He flicked on his blinker to pull to the side of a nearly empty back road. Nothing was around them but a field on one side and the woods on the other.

“Please, please, please.” Her voice pitched higher, her words breaking in pieces that resembled the same word said a million different ways. Her hands, which had been gripping her jeans, now covered her ears. Her cheeks started to glisten with tears.

Nell didn’t seem to hear his reassurances as he swerved quickly off the main road into the dirt on the side, alarmed by her state. She whimpered as the van bumped and pebbles kicked up more commotion. He apologized rapidly, but she probably couldn’t hear that either.

He was almost at a near stop when she moved, grabbing the door handle, flinging it open with all her might, and leaping to the ground below.

Barrett yelped, his heart stopping as she disappeared.

He shifted into park before the van was still. He jumped out and rushed around, cursing and praying that she was alright.

He rounded and froze, his feet unwilling to cooperate in the gravel that felt like quicksand.

He’d seen a lot of things before. Things he shouldn’t have.

But nothing had ever stuck to his brain the way that image did, ingraining itself into his very soul to become a part of future memories and thoughts.

Nell had fallen to her knees, her legs dirtied, her elbows cut and red. Her body quaked, and her forehead pressed down to the ground like she was praying, with her hands grasping the back of her skull.

But she wasn’t praying. She was screaming.

She was screaming words. Words that didn’t appear because she’d scraped her elbows or cut a knee.

They were stories, secrets. Confessions . Words that cracked from her like she’d been shattered and unable to hold anything in anymore.

“I did it. I did it,” she sobbed into the dirt.

“I shouldn’t have driven so fast. I knew the roads were slick.

I knew I was going too fast. And I did it.

I didn’t look at the road. I just . . . lost control.

” She pressed her hands into the side of her head like she was squeezing the memories from her head.

“I can’t get any of it out of my head. The blood, the smells.

The glass is everywhere. I can’t get it out.

It’s like it’s a part of me now. The lights, the sounds.

Everything. Everything. Their faces—oh god—their faces. I did that. I’m a murderer.”

She screamed and screamed and screamed.

Barrett stared, his hands frozen and feet held firm to the ground.

He wasn’t equipped for this. He didn’t have the wisdom or experience to relate. He wasn’t masterful at soothing broken hearts. The little he knew of loss and grief was so aged and faded that he barely felt it to be of any use anymore.

But this was Nell. As little and insignificant as he was to this world, he could never go on letting her think the same.

Functions returned into his body as another piercing sob shook Nell, and he managed to step forward and fall to one knee, crouching in front of her.

His first words came out in a sigh of breathless air as if he had run a million miles to get here. “ Listen to me .” He wasn’t sure if she could hear him, but he tried anyway—louder than before. “Listen. I didn’t know them, not really, but I do know you .”

His hand took over, reaching out and pulling her away from the ground until her face rested in his palm. Her cheeks shined with tears, and her expression twisted in pain as her blue eyes jumped to his. A shuddered breath brushed against his thumb.

He almost didn’t have the strength, almost didn’t have the willpower, to continue without his heart breaking or exploding, but she needed someone. So what else could he do but try?

Somehow, he managed the smile on his face, leaning closer.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a murderer.

You’re just human. There’s things we wish we could do, and we do things we wish we hadn’t.

I can’t say I know how you feel because I don’t, but you have to know they don’t want you to suffer.

You don’t deserve to feel like this. If they .

. . cared for you the way I do, then they wouldn’t want this .

They’d never want you to hurt yourself like this, Nell. Never. You’re so much more than that.”

Her shaking sobs lulled into cries as her gaze held him in place with an intensity that burned him from within. Those cries hushed into unsteady breaths as his chest ached in the limbo between pity and unrelenting affection.

She didn’t move. He didn’t move.

He would crouch there on that gravel shoulder until his knees were bloody if that was how long it took.

“They loved you, Nell. They want you to be happy. I know they do. I want you happy.”

She blinked slowly, and he finally recognized that dreamy, disconnected look in her stormy blue eyes. They glittered far away as another tear fell and some sort of puzzle piece in her expression found its place.

He heard the air change direction. The salty tears on his cheeks went sweet. He sensed the rapture in the universe the moment before it happened.

Nell fell forward and captured his exhale with her lips.

Barrett tilted off balance, gasping again as he caught his balance with one hand on her soft shoulder and one hand digging into the sharp gravel.

He’d imagined this more times than he cared to admit, in more ways than one.

But . . .

Kissing her—no, her kissing him—was the stuff of fantasies.

But not . . .

Her chest was against his, the air filled with heavy breaths and the soft sound she made in her throat. Her rapid kisses were dreamy, desperate, and damning. Detached. Destructive. Dangerous .

Not like this.

His eyes widened, and he stumbled back, catching himself with his elbows as he fell backward to the gravel. The press of it cutting into his skin was barely noticeable.

She looked at him, her eyes still disconnected, confused. Then they snapped into understanding, and she gasped. Her trembling hands covered her mouth in shock.

He knew it.

She wasn’t in her right mind. Her body still shook, for god’s sake. She didn’t know what she was doing.

Fantasies or not, he couldn’t kiss her in this state.

“You’re not feeling well. Let’s get you home.”

She avoided his eyes as he helped her up by her scraped elbow, left his van parked on the road, and walked her home.